


Mirror, Mirror

by IAmANonnieMouse



Series: Inception Bingo 2020 [2]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Eames has issues, Inception Bingo, M/M, but arthur loves him anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:53:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25526992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmANonnieMouse/pseuds/IAmANonnieMouse
Summary: Arthur doesn’t know who the bigger fool is: Eames for thinking he can successfully lie to Arthur, or Arthur for letting him.
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Series: Inception Bingo 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1849510
Comments: 4
Kudos: 72
Collections: Inception Trope/Kink Bingo 2020





	Mirror, Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> For the "confessions" square on my Trope Bingo Card.  
> It's a sequel to [Looking Glass](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24074974), which I wrote for the AELDWQ event earlier this year. But don't worry if you haven't read it yet, this can stand on its own :)

Arthur isn’t used to feeling like an idiot. His brain has always been his first line of defense, first in the military, then in dreamshare. Survival of the smartest, that’s always been his way, and it’s served him well — until now.

He’s been lying in bed for the last twenty minutes, waiting for Eames to finish up in the bathroom. The shower turned off fifteen minutes ago, and Arthur hasn’t heard a sound from him since.

They do this dance every night. Or, rather — Eames does. He stands in front of that mirror hanging over the sink and just…stares. And then every night, when Arthur eventually gets sick of waiting for him and walks into the bathroom, Eames flashes his practiced smile and pretends everything is fine.

Arthur doesn’t know who the bigger fool is: Eames for thinking he can successfully lie to Arthur, or Arthur for letting him.

Arthur looks at the clock. Twenty-five minutes, now. He gets out of bed and gently pulls the bathroom door open.

Eames melts easily into his arms, but his eyes never stray from that damn mirror.

“Come to bed,” Arthur murmurs, like he does every night. 

“I love you,” Eames responds, perfectly on cue.

Some nights, Arthur doesn’t know who Eames is trying to convince.

In bed, they fit against each other perfectly, comfortably tangling their arms and legs. Arthur knows that he clutches Eames close in sleep, wraps around him like he’s afraid to let go. But sometimes, he is. Sometimes, he feels like Eames could fade away in a whisper of smoke if it weren’t for Arthur keeping him here.

Tonight, Eames clutches him back and breathes in deep, shuddering gasps that move their arms where they rest against Eames’ chest. 

Arthur studies his face in the shadows and thinks about Eames standing, alone, in front of that mirror every night.

“You would tell me,” he whispers, “if something was wrong, right? You know you can tell me anything.”

Eames breathes and breathes again. This isn’t the first time Arthur’s said it. But it _is_ the first time it’s taken Eames this long to respond.

“Eames,” Arthur breathes, heart breaking. “What’s wrong?”

Eames reaches out and traces the profile of Arthur’s forehead, nose, lips. His hand is shaking.

“Eames,” Arthur tries again. “I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me what it is.”

That seems to break through to Eames. He pulls his hand away from Arthur’s face and twines their fingers together, shifting impossibly closer and resting his head on Arthur’s chest. 

“I hate him,” he whispers. “I hate him so much.”

“Who?” Arthur asks.

“The man.” Eames swallows. “He’s there every bloody morning when I wake up, and he’s there every night when I go to bed. And he just… _stands_ there and watches me.”

Arthur’s heart stops. “Who is he, Eames?” he whispers.

Another pause, another shuddering breath.

“He’s everything I am,” Eames grits out. “Everything I ever was. And I hate him, Arthur, I hate him so much.”

This pause is different than the others, more expectant. Arthur realizes that this is a test, in a way. Already, Eames is stiffening in his arms, bracing himself for a negative response.

“Can you tell me about him?” Arthur asks quietly, then internally sighs with relief as he feels every last inch of tension bleed out of Eames.

“Yeah,” Eames murmurs, letting his head rest fully on Arthur’s chest again. “Yeah, I can.”

So Eames tells him about a man named Emmett who robbed and lied and cheated and stole. Who played games where other humans were the pieces, who twisted and manipulated his way through life until finally — _finally_ — enough people caught on, and Emmett realized that he couldn’t play his games with them anymore.

So he created a different game. His greatest game of all.

“He built me,” Eames says, voice thin and worn. “He made me who I am. But he won’t let me ever forget who he was.”

Arthur leans back slowly, deliberately, then trails kisses down the profile of Eames’ forehead, nose, lips. They kiss, a soft, trembling thing. It’s the most vulnerable Eames has ever been. And the most honest.

“I hate him,” Eames breathes again when they part. 

“I don’t,” Arthur says. “He made the man I love. How could I ever hate him?”

Eames stares at him unbelievingly. 

“You know I love you,” Arthur says, smiling slightly. “This can’t be a surprise. I feel like I just said it over dinner, in fact.”

“No, it’s not—I know you—” Eames grunts and presses his face against Arthur’s chest again. “I wasn’t sure,” he admits, voice slightly muffled. 

“Foolish man,” Arthur murmurs in his ear, voice warm and fond. “I loved you even after you spilled bleach on my favorite bespoke suit. Did you really think you could ever run me off?”

Eames smiles, unsteady and fragile. “No,” he whispers, “I guess I didn’t.” He pulls Arthur closer. “Thank you, darling.”

Arthur kisses the nearest patch of skin. “Sleep. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

*

Arthur wakes up before Eames does, thankfully. He carefully slips out of bed and closes the bedroom door behind him. Eames has never been the type to sleep in, so he doesn’t have a lot of time.

He grabs an empty cardboard box from the basement and gets to work.

He starts with the hall mirror. It’s small and decorative, and Arthur’s always had a fondness for the frame, but that’s irrelevant now. There are a couple reflective things in the hall and living room, and he grabs them all just to be safe. The mirror over the fireplace is a bit of a production, but Arthur is able to get it after climbing up on a chair. He carries it downstairs right away; it won’t fit in his box.

The bathroom mirror is going to be a bigger project, but Arthur has a short-term solution: a sheet. It isn’t going to win him an award for home decor, but it’ll do the trick. 

He’s just taping the last corner when he hears Eames stir and sleepily murmur, “Darling?”

“In the bathroom,” he calls back.

There’s the rustle of sheets, the soft sound of feet. Eames comes up behind him, the heat of his body a furnace. “Darling,” he says slowly, “what are you doing?”

Arthur rips another piece of tape. “I got sick of looking at this. I’m going to put something else here, but for the time being, this will do the trick.”

There’s a pause, now, and Arthur makes sure his body doesn’t visibly tense. It’s always a gamble, doing personal things for Eames, but this is a bigger gamble than most. He’s half-convinced himself that he’s going to be in a shit-ton of trouble, but then Eames wraps Arthur up in a bone-crushing hug and whispers, “God, darling. I love you.”

Arthur lets out a breath and turns to pull Eames closer. “I was thinking one of your paintings,” he says, voice a little unsteady. “Maybe you can make us something new? Just for here?”

Eames nods and burrows his head against Arthur’s shoulder. “Anything for you, darling,” he says, laughing shakily. They stay like that for a long moment. Arthur leaves the bathroom to start cooking them breakfast, and something warm and fuzzy explodes in his chest when Eames is standing at his side in the kitchen only five minutes later.

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to [LittleRedCosette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleRedCosette/pseuds/LittleRedCosette) who is the reason I gave Eames the name Emmett. If you're in the mood for delicious angst and a fabulous backstory to Arthur and Eames, check out her works!!


End file.
